Cross Purposes
by LA CSI Fan
Summary: Sara tries to get Grissom out of her head. GSR.


Title: Cross Purposes

Summary: Sara tries to get Grissom out of her head.  GSR.

Spoilers:  Post LHB

Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were.

Sara stood in front of her bathroom mirror, scrutinizing her appearance.  Her pale skin bordered on translucent, darkened only by the shadows nesting under her eyes.  More fine lines seemed to have appeared at the corners of her eyes.  Even her hair seemed in on the conspiracy, lying lank against her head.  "It must be the fluorescent light," she muttered to herself, as she switched off the offending light and left the bathroom and headed towards her kitchen.

She walked over to the cupboard above the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of scotch.  Another cupboard yielded a glass, which was quickly filled with the amber liquid.  Sara knocked it back in one swallow, relishing the burning sensation as the alcohol traveled down her throat.  She filled the glass again, and walked over to the sliding doors leading to her balcony.

Leaning her head against the cool glass, Sara contemplated the lights of the city before her.  The scene was not of the famous lights of the Strip, but the standard neon signs and street lights of any patch of suburban sprawl in the country.  She watched the endless stream of cars go by, with an occasional pedestrian crossing into view as well.  Sara sipped at the scotch, trying to convince herself it would quiet her nerves.

She of course had heard the rumors about Grissom and Lady Heather.  Who hadn't?  She squeezed her eyes shut, but that only allowed her mind to conjure up hateful images more fruitfully.  She knew it was naïve, but Sara had always allowed herself the comfort of assuming Grissom would always be there.  The teasing smiles and occasional touches could not have sprung forth based solely on professional courtesy and respect.  Even with all the tugging and tearing their relationship had gone through lately, Sara had taken it as fact that something would come of it someday.  That sooner or later, one of them would finally take that step forward, reach a hesitant hand out, and turn their relationship into something more.  Another gulp of scotch slid down her throat as she finally acknowledged to herself that that scenario was never going to happen.  Grissom had chosen Lady Heather.  Not Sara Sidle.  And now it was time for Sara Sidle to choose someone.

She straightened up from the glass and finished her drink.  After taking the glass back to the kitchen, she strode purposefully back towards her bedroom, determined to move on with her life.  Sara put on high heels and dangly earrings, assuming the trappings of feminine wiles.  She smoothed down the skirt of her flirty dress.  One last check in the mirror revealed a stunning woman, dressed for a "hot date" as they say.  But it was all a show.  All the external signs were there, but a closer inspection of her eyes yielded an emptiness that had no spark, no fire.  She felt hollowed out, drained, with only a shell remaining.  Her mind flipped back to a study she had read years before, that suggested that you could talk yourself into feeling happy by acting happy.  Maybe the same could be said of love.  If she could pretend like she was in love with Hank, perhaps she could trick herself into thinking she actually did love him.  And Grissom would no longer haunt her.

The doorbell rang, and Sara went to answer it.  She swung open the door to reveal Hank standing there, dressed in a suit and bearing flowers.  "Hey, baby," he said, thrusting the flowers at her.  "You look gorgeous."

"Thanks," she said, with a smile that showed too much teeth.  She took the flowers, and moved from the doorway to allow Hank to enter.  As she searched for a vase to put them in, Hank wandered around the living room.

"Wow," he finally said.  "You sure do have a lot of books."

"Yeah," Sara replied, as she finally fished out a vase from under the sink.  Satisfied the flowers would at least last a few hours, she called out, "Do you want something to drink?"

"A beer would be great."

Sara walked out to the living room with his drink, and they sat on her couch.  A simple conversation ensued, which Sara did not allow herself to compare with the stimulating, all-night conversations she had shared with Grissom back in San Francisco.  No, she thought to herself, as she willed Grissom from her mind.  He was no longer welcome.

"What's wrong?" Hank asked.  At her blank expression, he continued, "You were shaking her head.  I thought we were going to go out to dinner, but did you want to go see a movie or something?"

"I…uh...um," Sara's mind scrambled for a response, but she knew what her decision had to be.  Grissom was no longer hers, and might never have been, and here in front of her was a man who was interested in her.  Maybe Hank wasn't that bright, but he was a decent man.  And he was good-looking, even if his eyes weren't the color of the sky over Tamales Bay after the sun had set.  And he wanted to be with her, and not some woman who got paid for doling out pain.  "I was thinking maybe we could stay in."

When he did not follow her lead, she gave him what she thought was a seductive gaze, and leaned in closely to him.  "Why don't we stay _in," she cooed, arching one eyebrow, and running her hand up his nearby arm.  Hank still sat there, dumbfounded.  Sara was quickly losing her nerve, and about to bail on the plan all together, when Hank closed the gap between them and kissed her.  He pushed her back against the arm of the sofa, clutching at her thigh with his free hand, causing Sara to flinch.  His mouth got more and more insistent, and Sara couldn't get any air.  "Wait, wait," she said, pushing Hank off her._

"What?" he said harshly.  "We're finally going to get around to doing something here, and you shove me away.  Is there someone else?"

"No," Sara said, a little too forcefully.  She deserved to have a life.  Even Grissom had told her so.  And if her current definition of a life meant Hank, so be it.  "I just thought we could go somewhere a little more comfortable."  With that, Sara stood, pulling Hank along with her.

She led him to her bedroom, where they lay on her bed.  Hank's weight settled on her, and she could feel his arousal pushing into her hip.  Sara closed her eyes as his lips suckled her earlobe.  She felt his hand ease up her thigh, sliding under her dress.  Sara pressed her palms against his back, in a desperate attempt to prove to herself that she could do this.  She moved her hands around to his chest to divest him of his suit jacket.  Hank shifted away from her and removed his jacket.  Throwing a self satisfied grin her way, he also took off his tie and dress shirt.  He then reached for the straps of her dress, dragging them downward to reveal her breasts.  He lowered his head, to drop a string of kisses along her neck.  No, Sara thought.  Hank's lips latched on to her nipple, and Sara let out a whimper.  Taking this as encouragement, Hank continued his lascivious attention.  Sara grabbed his shoulders, and roughly pushed him away.  She scrambled up and away from the bed, yanking at the straps of her dress in an attempt to cover herself.

"I…I can't," Sara said, unable to meet Hank's eyes.  When he didn't respond, Sara forced her eyes up to meet his.  "I just think…"

"That's the problem.  You think too much.  Jesus Christ, what the hell is going on with you?"  Hank's anger was increasing with each statement.  "First you don't even want us holding hands in public, then you jump my bones the minute I walk in the door, but as soon as we get started, you turn into the Ice Maiden."  Hank stood and gathered up his clothes.  "Look, Sara, I think you're a great girl, but I can't do this anymore."  He started towards the door, but Sara grabbed his arm.

"No, Hank, wait…"

"For what?  For you to get him out of your head?"

"Who?  I don't know what you're talking about," Sara replied, as she let go of him as if he were on fire.

"Yeah, right "Who?"  Look, I want to be with you, not you and the Bugman."

Sara stiffened.  "There's nothing going on between me and Grissom."

"Sure. Fine.  Whatever.  I'll…I'll see you later."  Hank left the room, and quickly exited the apartment.

Sara stood rooted to the spot.  The void that had once consumed her was now quickly filling with anger.  How dare Hank say such things to her?  That bastard.  Just because she turned him from her bed, that somehow gave him the right to insult her?  And to think she had almost slept with him!  Sara let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding.  She squeezed her eyes shut, denying the phenomenal mistake that she had almost made.  God, what had she been thinking?

Sara stomped into the kitchen, once again grabbing a glass and the scotch.  Her hand shook as she poured.  Taking gulps of the drink, Sara continued to stoke the fire of her anger.  But the flames were no longer directed at Hank, whose memory had been burned clean away, but at Grissom.  Somehow, it was his fault.

Sara re-filled the glass, as the memories washed over her.  The random casual touches.  The shared passion over evidence.  That damn comment about beauty.  What kind of spectacular mind game was he trying to play?  Grissom claiming he needed her.  No, he didn't need her.  He needed some bright eyed student hanging on his every word, eager to follow him everywhere.  And she had been so willing to play the lap dog.

Her anger had reached a fever pitch.  She couldn't take it any more.  This awkward _thing between them had to be ended.  Tonight.  Sara scooped up her keys from the kitchen counter and headed out the door._

************

The drive over to Grissom's townhouse had done nothing to assuage Sara's fury, but only allowed her to stew in it.  The blame was more firmly placed on Grissom's head with each passing mile.  Sara pulled her Tahoe to a screeching halt in front of his place and went barreling up to the front door.

Raising her hand to knock, she paused briefly, able to hear the faint sounds of classical music escaping from the townhouse.  What if _she_ is in there with him, Sara thought briefly.  Her resolve weakened momentarily, before she rapped sharply on the door.  Well, if she is, it'll just be a party, Sara thought grimly.

After a moment, the door swung open to reveal a mildly surprised, mildly disheveled Gil Grissom.  "Sara," he said, evenly.  "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Sara took in his unkempt hair, rumpled clothing, and slightly out-of-focus gaze.  On a normal evening, her manners would have asserted themselves, and she would have begged forgiveness for intruding.  Tonight was by no means normal, though, and she tossed off an "I need to talk to you" while pushing her way past him.

The lights were dimmed, and an open bottle of wine sat on the coffee table.  Only one glass, though.  And no signs of anyone else being here.  She was oddly disappointed that Lady Heather wasn't here to watch the fireworks display.  Sara was sure she could have found a few choice words to throw her direction.

Sara spun to face Grissom.  "Chopin's Revolution etude," she stated flatly.

"Yes."  He paused and quirked up one eyebrow.  "Did you come over here to discuss my choice in music, or is something else on your mind?"

Sara stood silently, watching him as he crossed to the other side of the room to pick up his glass of wine.  He raised it to his lips and took a swallow, keeping his eyes on her face.  She merely stared back, momentarily fascinated by the movement of muscles in his face and neck.  When nothing was forthcoming, Grissom gave her a quizzical look.  "Sara, is something wrong?"

That simple question galvanized her into action.  Clenching her hands into fists, Sara let the words pour forth, "Yes, Grissom, everything is wrong.  I had a date today, with a nice guy, who wanted me, but you distracted me."

Grissom raised his hands in a placating gesture, "Sara, just wait a minute…"

"No," she shouted, "I need to get all this out in the open.  What do you want from me?  You tell me to have a life.  You tell me that I need to find diversions.  You shut me out, hoping that I'll just go away, but how can I?"  Her voice wavered, as tears threatened.  She looked down at her hands that were tightly clenched together.  She paused for a moment to collect her thoughts before continuing on.  In a quieter voice, she said, "You harp on us about the importance of the evidence.  That the evidence never lies."  She looked up to meet his gaze.  "But what about the evidence you've thrown in my direction."

Grissom's expression was blank and his voice carefully neutral as he replied, "Evidence of what?"

"This _thing_ between us.  It's like the proverbial elephant in the room that no on talks about.  Well, I can't take it anymore."  At Grissom's lack of response, Sara pushed forward.  It was time to lay her cards on the table.  "This pulling me close then pushing me away has got to end now."

Grissom stepped forward, putting himself well within her personal space.  In a hushed voice, he asked, "What evidence?"

Sara looked up into his unfathomably blue eyes, but was unable to read them.  She glanced away, and instead concentrated on a blank spot on a wall behind him.  She could feel his gaze penetrating into her.  Her voice quavered.  Suddenly, she was no longer as sure of herself.  "The smiles.  The…uh…touches."  At that, Grissom's eyebrow practically launched itself into his hairline.  "The plant.  Telling me you need me.  That comment about beauty during the hockey case…"

"So it is true.  You do record everything I say."

Sara glared at him, and allowed her anger to flow through her once again.  "Grissom…just let me go so I can find a life, like you've found with Lady Heather."

At that, Grissom's eyes widened momentarily, before he stepped back and turned away from her.  He let out a harsh laugh.  "So, that's what this is about.  I see Brass has been fueling the rumor mill."

"Griss, sorry, I…"

"No," he snapped.  He kept his back to her, his shoulders slumped down.  His posture suddenly appeared to be that of a tired, old man.  "Sara, what goes on between me and Heather is our business.  Not the lab's, and certainly not yours," he said quietly.

Sara felt as if she had just been slapped.  Confirmation of your worst fears was a bitch.  She headed towards the door.  As her hand reached the knob, she heard Grissom say, "Besides, how can I let you go when I never had you in the first place."  She turned to see Grissom facing her, defeat and sorrow evident in his eyes.

Sara's mouth gaped open, but no words emerged.  The adrenaline high that had propelled her into her tirade, out of her house and into his, abruptly vanished.  What was that supposed to mean?  Suddenly, she was very, very tired.  Grissom's face registered a crooked smile.  " "It seems we've been at cross purposes, doesn't it?"", he said, before focusing on the wine glass in his hand.

Sara knew that quote from somewhere, but couldn't place it.  She pushed it aside to concentrate on the man before her.  She closed her eyes, and raised one hand to her head.  "Grissom, I don't know what to do," she softly admitted.

Suddenly, he was standing right next to her, cupping her face with his hands.  Her eyes flew open.  "Neither do I," he said, right before bringing his mouth crashing down on hers in a kiss filled with lust, passion, anger, and possession.  The momentum pushed Sara back against the closed front door.  Sara clutched at his hair as the kiss quickly embodied carnality.  His mouth moved to her neck, burning a trail of kisses along the column of her throat as she moaned out his name.  She yanked up the hem of his shirt, desperate to get her hands on the heat of his bare skin.  Grissom pulled away for a moment, forcing her to meet his gaze.  Both were panting heavily.  "Sara," he said.

"What Gil?"

He smiled at her use of his first name.  He watched his thumb slide back and forth over her swollen lips before dragging his eyes up to meet hers.  "There's nothing going on between me and Heather."

"Really?" Sara managed to squeak out.

"Nothing.  She was a suspect in a case.  Besides, I'm already in love with someone else."

Sara's eyes widened, and she blinked several times.  Did he mean what she thought he meant?  This man was going to drive her insane.  She leaned her head back and allowed her eyes to slide shut.  "Grissom, I…"

"Shhh," he said, before lowering his head to hers once again.  Before he could close the gap between them, he noticed the tears flowing down her face.  Cocking his head back, he asked, "Sara, what's wrong?"

"Oh God, Grissom…" she managed to get out between hiccups.  She opened her eyes, but could not quite meet his gaze.  She hated when she got like this.

He peered closely into her eyes, noticing the shadows that the make-up didn't quite conceal.  "You've pulled overtime the last few shifts.  When was the last time you slept?"

"Um, what day is it?"

Grissom grunted.  "I thought so."  

Sara was slumped against the door, her limbs shaking.  She held tightly on to Grissom, knowing that if she let go, she would be a pile at his feet.  She was so exhausted.  The lack of sleep combined with the alcohol she consumed and the emotional roller coaster she'd ridden over the last few hours pressed down on her.  She raised her tired gaze to him, "I'm sorry, Griss."

"That's quite enough apologies for one evening.  Come on," he said.  Grissom half-dragged, half-carried Sara into his bedroom.  He pulled back the covers and placed her on the bed.  He knelt down to remove her shoes, before swinging her feet up and under the comforter.  He pulled the covers up around her shoulders, and then reached up to brush an errant strand of hair away from her eyes.

Sara could feel sleep creeping up around her, and she grasped Grissom's hand.  "Griss, I love you," she exhaled, before giving in to her exhaustion.

Grissom leaned down to kiss her forehead, and quietly replied, "I love you, too."

************

Part of Sara's mind was telling her to get up and out of bed, but it was more than overwhelmed by the rest that told her to remain just where she was.  She couldn't remember a time where she had been more comfortable.  She hugged the pillow more closely to herself and settled more deeply into the mattress.  Something itched at her to wakeup, but it definitely wasn't the sheets.  Cotton that felt like silk—they had to be one million thread count.  She didn't have anything this nice on her bed at home.  With that thought, the rest of Sara's brain woke up and her eyes snapped open.  She quickly surveyed the bedroom, trying to rid her mind of cobwebs.  Heavy draperies leaked just enough light into the room for Sara to see.  She still had on all of yesterday's clothing.  What was the last thing she remembered?  The fight with Hank…drinking too much scotch…going over to see Grissom…oh shit.  Sara propped herself up and glanced over her shoulder.  There, lying next to her, was the semi-nude sleeping figure of Gil Grissom.

He was lying on his back, with one arm across his abdomen.  She noticed how much younger he looked when he was asleep; the faint lines of worry that etched the areas around his mouth and eyes were gone.  She also noticed how well defined the muscles in his chest and arms remained, regardless if he had put on a bit of weight lately.  She smiled, wistfully to herself, allowing for a moment's acknowledgement that this would be the preferable way to wake up every morning.  

Sara lay back down, trying to determine if discretion was truly the better part of valor, and she should just escape while she still could.  Everything that had been said between them yesterday still wasn't a guarantee of bliss in the future.  Could she and Grissom truly do the "happily ever after" bit?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the shifting of the body next to her.  Grissom wrapped one arm around her, and pulled her close.  "Good morning," he whispered, before dropping a kiss on her shoulder.  Sara rolled over on her side to face him.  Gazing into his eyes, Sara reached out a hand and rested it on his cheek.  A simple fact was made obvious to her.  Yes, she knew she could be happy with this man.  She felt the slight stubble against her palm as she stroked his face.  She leaned into kiss him, but suddenly reared back when her brain finally put all the pieces together.

"_Gone with the Wind_?" she said.  Grissom's face reflected his confusion, until he grinned at her.  "You quoted _Gone with the Wind_ to me last night, didn't you?"

"Yes," he said, his blue eyes dancing.

She flashed a gap-toothed grin at him.  "Griss, I didn't realize you were such a romantic."

"Only with you, Sara, only with you," he said, before leaning into her and claiming his kiss.


End file.
